My knuckles have just reseated from Bobby Bolton’s handshake. He’s now 15 feet above me, shirtless, merrily sawing a hefty tree branch that’s blocking the progress of his towering camper-truck. His fiancée, Marie, surveys from a safe distance while their two dogs, Red and Rubia, snooze in the cab. They’ve seen more unusual Monday mornings than today’s.
Bobby’s story is the one we’ve all toyed with after that bad day at work, that heartrending break up, that moment of ‘sod this, I’m going to tell my boss to shove it, cash in the house, pool my savings, and go see the world’.
Normally, a good night’s sleep smooths it over. Not Bobby. After an 11 year relationship dissolved and he spied a well travelled Land Rover Defender pulling up outside…
